


the memory of you (framed on my wall)

by Vilchen



Series: My Yoi Spooky Week 2019 fics [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Day one: haunted, Don’t copy to another site, Gen, Ghosts, M/M, Old photos, YOI Spooky Week, YOI Spooky Week 2019, detroit skating fam, phichuuri friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 03:22:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21172604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vilchen/pseuds/Vilchen
Summary: When Detroit turns out be lonelier than Phichit thought it would, he finds himself spending his nights at the rink with a skater who never seems to go home—in fact, the only trace left behind of him are the endless figures he carves into the ice."Yuuri! Come here and let me shove your existence up my rinkmates' asses,” Phichit calls from the rinkside."Uh, sure."





	the memory of you (framed on my wall)

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Brief discussion of character death. Nothing graphic.
> 
> Find me on tumblr as [Vilchen](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vilchen)

Phichit's family are professionals when it comes to celebrations, and in a family as big as his, there’s always something to celebrate. So his 'surprise' farewell party isn’t really a surprise at all, but Phichit willingly plays the part when he comes home one day to a living room full off relatives and neighbors and friends, gasping and grinning because it’s so much fun to see them all together again.

"Guys! What’s this?" He asks, nose filling with the smell of spicy shrimp soup, fried noodles and fried chicken. He knows, of course, and the question answers itself with the homemade banner hanging from the ceiling. _Good luck in America!_ it says in glittery watercolors. 

Gun and Ngam-Chit pushes themselves past the other guests and almost collide into him in their haste. A package is clutched between their green and glittery fingers, and they’re wearing matching grins to go with their matching outfits.

"Here, _phrādā_!" Ngam-Chi says and tugs on his shirt sleeve. "We got you a gift from Mrs. Banlengchit’s store!"

Read: Mom got it from Mrs. Banlengchit’s store and we wrapped it.

Phichit unwraps the present and picks up the old Polaroid camera from the box.

"Oh, this is so cool!" He says and inspects the old buttons. "Is it blessed?"

Mrs. Banlengchit is the old, witchy neighborhood lady who sells only the most unique kind of stuff in her store. Phichit swears he once saw her cat stocking the shelves as kid, but Amon never believes him when he brings it up—that’s why he likes Gun and Ngam-Chi better; they’re younger, easier to corrupt and _way_ easier to bribe.

"Uh..." Ngam-Chit says and looks back at her twin.

"She said it attracts good fortune," his mother shoots in, "And keeps bad spirits away."

"Yeah, that," says Ngam-Chi and Gun with solemn looks on their faces.

"Aw, thanks you two!" He says and gives them a big bear hug, uncaring of their giggles and fake protests.

"Phichit, come see what we got you!" One of his cousins says and drags him to the small, but stacked gift table where he’s throughly surrounded by his relatives who all want to have a word with him and give him their well wishes.

"...have to write, and don’t forget souvenirs—"

"We got you tea—"

"Did you see—"

"—and I told her no, because that’s a crazy idea, but she just—"

"I watched your free skate—"

"Why can’t we come with you? I know English, too, see, _my name is Gun_—"

It’s a lot, but it’s always fun.

* * *

The airport is bustling with people going this way and that way like a hive of bees—minus the coordination. Two young kids drag their feet and beg their mother for a toilet break; an old man with a big paper map almost collides with a pillar and swears at no one in particular; three flight attendants rush by with their small hats, shiny heels and smart suitcases.

In the midst of all this is Phichit, clutching his carry on and standing on his tip toes to see over the heads of the crowd. A hand comes down on his shoulder from behind, large and steady in the chaos.

"Ciao, ciao! You must be Phichit!"

* * *

His new homerink in Detroit is... old. The zamboni driver is old, the bleachers are old, the rental skates are _beyond_ old, and it sort of feels like he’s skating in a museum.

His skates carve sharp, unforgiving lines into the ice as he comes out of his spread eagle and throws himself into the vague idea he has for a step sequence. The soundtrack from The King and the Skater blows through his earbuds—in Thai for once; he has always preferred the English version, but homesickness has been an unexpected roommate ever since he settled into his empty dorm a week and a half ago.

Ciao Ciao was strict when he gave him the keys to the rink so he could stay late and made him swear not to try any fancy jumps without anyone there to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself, and since Phichit doesn’t like spending too much time alone in his dorm he’s been keeping to the rules.

The other guy though, does not.

Phichit only sees him when comes back to the rink for a late night skate, but the other guy is always there before or him and always keeps going when Phichit's done. He’s never introduced himself.

One time Phichit walked in on him in the middle of a routine—a _crazy_ routine. +4 GOE on every spin, advanced jump entries and sure landings, a step sequence so beautiful it could make a veteran weep, all tied together by the sure rhythmic steps of a skater Phichit has never seen competing in international competitions before. It could be a record breaking program, Phichit's sure if it.

He lands quads. Phichit has never seen him fall on one.

But most nights—like tonight—he spends his time doing compulsory figures. Three turns, counter turns, rocker turns and loops; Phichit learned the names long ago, but he’s never seen anyone dedicate as much time to them as this guy.

Now, Phichit isn’t the type of person to force anyone out of their comfort zone from the get-go, and the other guy has made it pretty clear that he’s not the talkative type, but Phichit needs to work out his triple axel and this guy has it down solid—and what’s the point of moving to America if he’s not gonna take advantage of the recourses presented to him?

But the other guy looks really focused, and Phichit can’t just skate over there and demand him to cut his own practice short to help him. Not without introducing himself, at least. He stands rooted on the ice, unsure of where to put his hands and running through a few scenarios—none of which feel right. In the end it’s the thought of Amon's dry smile if she saw him tongue tied that spurs him into action, kicking away from the barrier and stopping in front of the other guy with a wide smile.

The other guy stops in the middle of a bracket turn, looking very confused and very surprised at Phichit's hand, then his face, and back at his hand again. He’s just a little shy then, and the thought gives PHichit a little more confidence, just enough to not make it feel awkward offering his hand for a handshake.

"Hi! I don’t think we’ve talked before—" Nothing besides Phichit's one sided internal gushing at his technique. "—But I’m Phichit, nice to meet you!"

The other guy reaches out and squeezes Phichit's hand—his touch is surprisingly cold, like ice—hesitating briefly before returning his smile. It’s the sort of smile that sneaks up on you and that you don’t really notice until it’s suddenly there, knocking the breath straight out of your chest with a gentle tap.

"I’m Yuuri," he says.

"Hi, Yuuri."

"Hi."

As far as first meetings go, it’s not that bad.

* * *

They don’t get around to his triple axel that night, or the night after. Instead they talk, and they skate, and then they talk some more. And also: figures. Lots and lots of figures.

At first glance Yuuri isn’t very talkative. Phichit is the one who starts all of their conversations and Yuuri often takes some time to warm up to the topics, especially when they have to do with things unrelated to skating. He blinks a lot like a lost puppy when Phichit talks about Instagram and tv series, and after some prodding Yuuri unwillingly admits that he isn’t very caught up on social media or technology in general.

So they talk about skating.

"No way! You can land the quad flip— Do you know how few people in the world has landed that in competition before? That’s amazing!"

Yuuri turns a pretty shade of pink at the praise (and mumbles something that’s possibly self deprecating and Phichit therefore chooses to ignore), tugging at the frayed sleeves of his training shirt. It’s a pretty old brand of sportswear, Phichit notes, but it’s survived Yuuri's fiddling fingers so far, so it must be some quality to it.

"But why do you do those jumps when there’s no one here to spot you? My coach is really strict about that stuff—if you fall and get knocked out it could be pretty scary."

Phichit has always had big family to keep him out of trouble; Yuuri has a wedding band on his finger, but he’s always alone and Phichit sometimes wonders if there’s a reason he spends all off his spare time skating figures in an old rink after closing time. Perhaps he doesn’t have anything to go home to either.

"I was in the beginning, but I’ve been here for so long now..." Yuuri gets a far-away look on his face. "It got so boring doing the same figures and step sequences over and over again, so I started with singles and upgraded them—but not all at once; more of a gradual development."

"That’s pretty sweet."

Yuuri considers him for a moment. "I guess."

"And while we’re at the topic of jumps—" Phichit brings his palms together and smiles sweetly the way Ngam-Chit taught him. "—would you mind helping me with my triple axel? Pretty please?"

Yuuri raises his eyebrows and lets out a noise of surprise. "Me? Isn’t it better for your coach to help you with that so I don’t give you any of my bad habits?"

Phichit snorts at the thought of _Yuuri_ giving _him_ bad habits. As if.

"Okay, fine, but could you at least spot me? I’m not allowed to practice them without someone keeping an eye on me; I’m not quite on your level yet."

A small crinkle between his brows betrays Yuuri's uncertainty, but he gives a curt nod and skates a bit to the side to give him more room. Phichit cheers on the inside. He skates a small circle to gather some speed and takes off surely from the ice, one, two, three and a quarter of a rotation before he stumbles on the landing.

He looks up and sees Yuuri with his arms crossed, worrying his lip and staring intently at him.

"I think you need more speed," he says quietly. "You don’t get the full rotations and that makes it hard to stick the landing properly."

A smile unwillingly spreads across Phichit's face as he turns about to set up another jump.

"Okay!"

* * *

"Are you sure you don’t want me to call you a cab?" Phichit asks, skating bag slung over one shoulder and the other hand holding onto both his phone and his water bottle. It’s almost eleven o’clock and he’s ready to go home, but Yuuri is still in his skates and doesn’t look like he has any plans to turn in for the night. 

“No thanks,” Yuuri says and leans on the barrier separating them. “I’m actually waiting for someone.”

He twists the wedding band on his finger mindlessly, and Phichit realizes what he means. A partner of some sort, then. It doesn’t sit quite right with him because even on those nights Phichit stays until midnight, Yuuri still has to wait. Some partner.

“Are you sure? It’s getting pretty late,” Phichit says. Yuuri looks down at his ring with a small, secretive smile. His voice is soft as he says,

"Nah, it’s fine. I don’t mind waiting for him.”

* * *

"Figures again?" Allison asks during warmups. Her earbuds dangle from her neck as she skates an idle lap around him, one brow raised questioningly. "Your warm up is usually more... exciting than that."

Javier and Liz—who’re already done with warmups and are practicing some easy lifts, stop by them. Liz's lipgloss is cherry red and shiny, and her nails are painted a neon yellow color. She hasn’t gotten around to trying the green one Phichit got her yet, then.

"What are we talking about?" She asks.

"Phichit's obsession with figures," Bobby shoots in as he too stops, the guilty eavesdropper.

Phichit breaks off the lazy figure eight he’d been carving into the ice and smiles a winning smile. "Yuuri said they’re good for my technique! He's been doing them since he started, so I believe him, and they’re kinda relaxing, too."

"Who's Yuuri?" Bobby asks and digs his toe pick into the ice. "I’ve never met a Yuuri."

"Me neither," Javier shoots in.

"It sounds kind of familiar?" Liz says, fiddling with her braid and leaning lazily on Bobby's shoulder. "I think there might be a kid in juniors called Yuuri. Russian, I think."

"Seriously?" Phichit says. "I see him almost every time I stay after practice—he’s good, like _crazy_ good. I’ve never seen him fall on a quad!"

"Uh-huh," says Bobby. "Sounds fake."

"I mean, if he were that good we would’ve heard about it, don’t you think? I can’t remember ever meeting a Yuuri, and I’ve taken classes here for five years." Liz shrugs and skates away, braid bouncing as she goes. Javier looks apologetic, but turns on his heel and follows Liz to continue their practice.

Phichit sputters. "You seriously don’t believe me? Where’s your faith?" He turns to Allison, feeling betrayed, but hopeful. "You believe me, right Al—you don’t think I’m crazy, right?"

She smiles indulgently at him and pats his shoulder. "I’m sure you aren’t.”

* * *

_ **Alison**  
_

_Do you think that friend of yours could help me with my quad sal? Cause I just got my GP assignments and I’m going up against both Babicheva and Sara Crispino so I need all the help I can get, lmao_

_ **Phichit** _

_:3c_

* * *

"—and then he does this thing where he just blinks up at you, and it’s seriously adorable, he looks completely lost. Oh! Did I tell you he can do a quad flip; cause he can and it’s amazing, really smooth and he’s been helping me out with my triple axel as well, you know the one that’s been kicking my ass? He said it’s his favorite jump, but that’s weird cause I’ve seen him do lots of quads and he lands them just as well, y'know, but I guess it’s a comfort thing—I get it, I love the toe loop, so it’s probably something like that."

Phichit kicks the door to the rink open and expects to hear the crisp sound of skates carving out the ice, but is instead met with complete silence. The second row on the bleachers that has always been reserved for Yuuri's open skate bag is empty, and there's no mystery boy in sight.

"Uhm, he’s usually here by now," he says and glances back at Alison. To her credit she only looks a little bit like she thinks he’s crazy, but she sets down her skate bag and starts tugging on her shoelaces.

"Well, we can start with some warmups while we wait, then."

They put on their skates and kick off from the barrier with sure glides. Allison does a couple of laps around the rink while Phichit continues from where he left off earlier that day with figures. He blows a warm breath of air to warm the tip of his nose and mourns his lack of gloves. It’s chillier than usual for some reason.

Half an hour passes and Yuuri still doesn’t show. They’ve moved on from warmups and he’s trying to give some feedback on Allison’s jump entry in her short when they hear a door shut loudly from the locker room.

"Was that him?" Allison asks. Phichit shrugs and grabs his skateguards.

"I’ll go check, just wait here."

The locker room is unlocked—which is odd—and also empty.

"Yuuri? Are you in there?" He calls. The sound echoes back at him with no response as he takes a step inside and lets the door slide shut behind him. It’s eerie quiet in there alone, but Phichit doesn’t let it bother him and ducks his head around the corner.

The locker room is the only remotely modern room in the entire rink with electronic locks you need a key card from the reception to open and that locks themselves automatically once you shut the door; but still some doofus forgot, Phichit sees and rolls his eyes at the single open locker.

He shuts it firmly and holds it there until he hears the locking mechanism click into place, but _something's moving behind him—_

"Phichit?" Allison stands in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself and teeth chattering. "I-It's really cold in here, maybe we should come back some other—"

All at once, every locker bursts open and slam into each other. Someone screams—it might’ve been him, or Allison or both, and the light flickers overhead. They look at each other and scramble for the exit, stopping only to frantically tear their skates off and leaving their bags and skates behind. Allison is crying, and they spend the buss ride back to campus in silence.

* * *

_ **Alison** _

_I don’t know what happened last night, but if it was some kind of joke I swear I’m gonna bust your ass, Chulanont._

_ **Phichit** _

_I swear I have no idea! It must be some sort of malfunction with the lockers, cause I’ve never seen that happen before. Sorry Yuuri didn’t show, btw_

* * *

_ **Ciao Ciao** _

_I’ve talked with the owners about those lockers you wanted me to check. They came in this morning and found everything in its place, so I told them to forget it. I have your bags in my office._

_ **Ciao Ciao** _

_And maybe you should cut some of those late nights at the rink. It’s important to get enough sleep._

_Phichit stares stoically down at the text messages._

"He totally thinks I’m hallucinating.”

* * *

It’s surprisingly easy to follow Celestino's advice and stay away from the rink at night. Even when he’s at home and has nothing better to do than stare blankly at the ceiling and fantasize about the three hamsters he’d like to adopt—another reason to hate his dorm is the strict no pets policy—he firmly avoids looking at his skating bag where it lies inconspicuously next to the door.

He tries to convince himself it’s because he’s tired he doesn’t visit the rink.

Phichit sees Allison on the bus to practice; they’ve come to an undiscussed agreement to not bring up that night and carry on as normal, but it doesn’t escape him that she gives the locker room door a wide berth and remains unusually silent whenever the topic of Yuuri comes up.

His resolve crumbles after four days. The triple axel double toe loop combination he wants in his free skate refuses to come together properly, no matter how many recordings he looks at or how much rink time he wastes on changing his jump entries. Ciao Ciao does his best to help, but it’s Bobby's final season and he wants to go out with a bang so it’s only natural that he gets more attention leading up to his GP assignments; leaving Phichit very by himself and very frustrated. So he grabs his keys, bag and—after a brief moment of hesitation—his Polaroid camera. Old Mrs. Banlengchit knows her business, alright; if she says it wards off evil spirits, then it wards off evil spirits.

He half expects not to see Yuuri, but feels stupid once he locks himself in and hears the telling sound of skates against the ice. Of course he hasn’t stopped coming because of Phichit; Yuuri is always there before he arrives and always stays after he leaves, one exception doesn’t break the rule.

Yuuri's bag lays open on the second row of the bleachers, so Phichit climbs up and dumps his own bag and the camera there as well. When he finally steps on the ice Yuuri is just coming out of a sit spin with one arm raised delicately into the air, which he then smoothes off with a gentle stop and an outstretched hand. All of his routines end like that, with Yuuri reaching out for someone in the stands and holding it there until the mood fades.

"That one’s new, isn’t it?" Phichit asks and breaks Yuuri out of his reverie.

"—Oh, yeah. It isn’t exactly new, but I haven’t completed it yet," he says. There’s a small smile on his face as he looks Phichit up and down, noting his lack of earbuds and newly acquired gloves.

"You’re back," he says and huffs out a little laugh. "I thought I might’ve scared you off."

"Me?" Phichit presses a hand to his chest and scoffs. "Never. I just got a little spooked the other day, and Ciao Ciao wanted me to take some time off."

A rosy flush works its across Yuuri's cheeks and his next words are hesitant. "I’m sorry about your friend by the way; I didn’t mean to intrude..."

"Wait, you were there that night?" His shoulders hunches as Phichit looks at him with wide eyes, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together in his mind. "Does that mean..? Oh my gosh, it makes so much sense," he hisses to himself. "Does it bother you that much when people watch you?"

That’s probably why he doesn’t hang around during normal practice times, and why Phichit hasn’t seen him at any international competitions, how did he not realize?

"Uhm, it’s fine, Phichit. I should’ve given you a warning or something." Yuuri looks anywhere but at him and digs his toe pick into the ice. "I get jittery when other people watch me skate."

Phichit buries his face in his hands and groans. "I'm such a prick! That’s why no one ever sees you around during the day, isn’t it? Did you seriously sneak out when you heard I brought someone?" The deepening flush on Yuuri,s face is enough for an answer.

"Gosh, I’m so, so sorry."

"—Ah, it's fine, really; don’t worry about it!"

There’s an awkward silence where they just sort-of-but-not-really try to look each other in the eye and then chicken out, until Yuuri clears his throat and halfheartedly suggests they get back to practice.

"Uhm, would you mind helping me out with my triple axel double toe combo? It’s kinda been kicking my ass for a while now," Phichit asks after finishing a quick warmup exercise. Yuuri nods and smiles that small, pleased smile of his.

"Sure."

* * *

_ **Javier** _

_So how’s it going with that Yuuri guy?_

_ **Liz** _

_The one who doesn’t exist, you mean_

_ **Javier** _

_Liz, chill_

_ **Bobby** _

_I agree with her, actually. Still haven’t seen the guy and I even asked my sister if she’d seen him around cause she skates during her lunch break, but she didn’t know anything about him either_

_ **Allison** _

_Maybe he reserves the rink for himself or smth_

_ **Liz** _

_Doubt it_

_ **Bobby** _

_That shit's expensive, dude_

_ **Phichit** _

_Heathens, all of you (not you Al, you’re cool)_

_ **Phichit** _

_I’ll give you proof_

"Yuuri," Phichit calls from the rinkside, bag dumped carelessly on the floor next to him and phone clutched in his hand. "Come here and let me shove your existence up my rinkmates' asses."

"Uh, sure."

Phichit jumps up on the barrier separating them so he can sling an arm around his shoulders and press their faces together—the point of contact is icy cold. He tries to snap a selfie with his phone, but the camera refuses to focus on both of their faces; sometimes even wiping out Yuuri's entire silhouette.

"It’s fine, cameras don’t really like me," Yuuri says and scrunches his nose.

"Give me a sec!" Phichit says and runs up to the bleachers. It’s become a habit to bring the Polaroid camera along to the rink, even during normal practice. He’s got half a dozen pictures of Ciao Ciao's impressive pony tail alone, so it’s not a complete waste of effort.

He’s thankful for it now, though, because the quick check he makes through the screen confirms that Yuuri's features are as clear as day.

"Okay, take a step back!" He says, "I want to get the Detroit banner in the shot as well."

Yuuri does as instructed and looks straight at the camera—it is the perfect replication of a very uncomfortable plastic doll.

"Uhm... Maybe relax a little? Think of something you like!" His eyes catch on the golden band around his ring finger, and an idea strikes. "What about your partner, Yuuri? Think of them!"

And... wow. All at once it’s as if a curtain has been pulled away to reveal a perfect, snowy morning, because Yuuri practically melts. It’s that one gentle smile that has secretly been Phichit's favorite—just bigger and brighter than he's ever seen it. His nose crinkles a little and he peeks up from his bangs just so to maximize the doe like quality of them; he looks so _happy_.

Phichit snaps the photo as quickly as possible before Yuuri's perfect expression melts away and he brings a hand up to rub sheepishly at his neck.

"Was that okay?"

The small plastic square is at the moment bland with just a faint outline, but Phichit can tell it’s a winner. He tucks it into his chest pocket and smiles, hand over his mouth because his rinkmates are going to _freak_.

* * *

"Oh my god."

"He's real, I can’t believe he’s actually real."

"I showed it to Chad this morning and he _died_—it was hilarious!"

"Guys, I think I just had my bisexual awakening.

* * *

Skate Canada is a whirlwind of sensations and experiences that start with Phichit finding a boy named Guang Hong’s phone and ends with a newly forged friendship. Oh, and he somehow manages to pull himself up from 9th place to 4th place after the free, which is his best placement yet in the senior division.

"I’m proud of you, Phichit! Those late night skates must do some good, eh?" Celestino’s hand clamps down on his back and almost sends him stumbling forwards. "I’ve never seen you so in control of your body before; it’s those figures you’ve been doing lately, I’m sure of it!"

Liz rolls her eyes at the proud smirk he sends her and adjusts her phone to take another selfie with her bronze medal; Javier lurks behind her with his matching one and gives him a discreet thumbs up.

"Thanks, coach!" He says and beams, refreshing his Instagram to properly load all the congratulation messages from his family. They’re gonna celebrate later tonight with viewing of his performances on the big screen—Amon says she’s gonna think of him while eating all the delicious, homemade food he won’t get to taste; Phichit takes it as the declaration of sibling love he knows it is.

There’s a diploma in his backpack that he can’t wait to show Yuuri!

* * *

For once Yuuri isn’t on the ice when Phichit arrives, but instead on the bleachers by his bag. He's in an oversized cable knit sweater and faded jeans instead of his training gear, glasses perched delicately on his nose and looking somewhat smaller; more so than the two inches his skates give him.

As Phichit comes closer he sees that Yuuri isn’t rummaging through his bag, but _packing_ it—neverhas he seen Yuuri pack away his skating gear, but there he is, tucking his extra laces and water bottle and skate guards away as if it isn’t a huge break of character.

"Wow," he says. "You’re not staying til morning this time?"

Yuuri chuckles and rolls his eyes at the quip, but it doesn’t escape Phichit that his lip is bitten red from worry. Or anticipation.

"How was Canada?" Yuuri asks and tugs the zipper of his bag shut. Phichit shrugs nonchalantly, fingers clutching around the diploma hidden behind his back.

"I wish I had something a little shinier to show off, but y'know, fourth place ain't bad," he says with a grin and whips out his diploma. Yuuri's eyes go wide as saucers as he scans the official looking document, smile growing in size the further down he gets.

"Oh my gosh, that’s amazing! How does it feel?"

"It's great," he says, looking down at the diploma in his hands. It’s unreal. "I dreamt of this as a kid y'know, but it never felt real—not like this."

"It’s a rush, isn’t it?" Yuuri’s asks and looks at him like he knows, knows how it feels to start out with nothing and carry yourself up to places you could never dream of before; it's a recurring theme in his programs, Phichit knows, but still.

His phone vibrates in his pocket with a text from Allison—she’s waiting for him outside.

"Uhm, I just dropped by to show you this. But before I go," he says, smirking as he lifts the Polaroid camera hanging around his neck. "Wanna take a victory selfie?"

It takes some awkward shuffling and a couple of tries, but the end result is a picture of Yuuri and Phichit cheek to cheek with the diploma squeezed between them. It's pretty good in Phichit's opinion.

Another text buzzes in on his phone—probably some impatient screeching or something like it. 

"Would you like a ride home?" He asks Yuuri. "Since we’re both ready to go and all."

Yuuri blinks, looking very confused for a second, but then smiles that small, gentle smile again. "Nah, I’m good."

"You sure? That guy you’re waiting for sure is taking his sweet time."

A surprised laugh bubbles out of Yuuri, followed by a very unattractive snort that should not be endearing in any way, but still is.

"Yeah, he can be like that sometimes," he says and dries a stray tear from his eye. "But I think he’ll be here any minute now, actually.”

Phichit isn’t too sure about that, but Yuuri looks happy to wait and there’s another impatient text buzzing in his pocket that might just turn into real screeching if he doesn’t get a move on it.

"Okay, if you’re sure. Bye, Yuuri!" He says and backs out the door.

Through the gap of the door he sees Yuuri straighten up and look over his shoulder, the happiest grin till now stretching across his face and a name on his lips, _Vic_—

The door slides shut. And Phichit goes home.

* * *

Liz slams her palms flat against the table and startles half of her dozing rinkmates in the process. Bobby hits the table face first with a groan and doesn’t make an effort to move; Javier elbows Allison as she blinks blankly at her dark phone screen, and Phichit—who is the only one even remotely close to being a morning person—almost throws his smoothie at her out of instinct.

Liz ignores all of this and stares intently at all of them. "Have you heard?"

Javier snorts. "The only thing I’ve heard today is Ciao Ciao's ponytail fraying."

Celestino is currently in a loud discussion with the rink owners—apparently they’ve managed to double book _again_, even though he always reserves ice time in the morning every Tuesday, and _someone_ has to tell the hockey guys to get off the ice soon unless they want to fight a small army of grumpy skaters.

"No, not that," she huffs, "I mean this—"

Phichit recognizes the website to a sports centered newspaper on Liz's phone as she scoots in on the bench and holds up her phone so everyone can see the bold headline:

** _Victor Nikiforov (96) is dead_ **

_The most decorated figure skater in men's singles ever passed away in his sleep last night, leaving behind his two poodles and an unbroken world record for the highest combined score in history. Through 16 years of competitive figure skating.._.

_Read more: here_

"Victor Nikiforov? I think I’ve heard about him," Bobby says and blinks blearily. "Crazy dude—threw himself at his fiancé after a skate, made headlines everywhere he went until he suddenly dropped completely off the radar."

Liz rolls her eyes and shoves him away. "Yeah, and besides that, he’s literally a living legend—"

"Not so 'living' anymore," Allison mumbles.

"—and his programs are some of the highest difficulty routines to this day—"

"Uhm," says Javier. "Guys..?"

"What?"

"Look at this," he says and turns the phone, "Doesn’t that look like Phichit's Yuuri?"

It’s a picture from further down the article of a man who must be Nikiforov with an arm slung around another man in the kiss and cry. The other man is dressed as a skater and is clasping Nikiforov's hand in his own, matching rings on their fingers.

He looks exactly as Yuuri—from the big, doe like eyes to the gentle smile on his face to the blue rimmed glasses perched on his nose; it’s no doubt about it.

"Oh my god."

Javier points to the fine print under the photo.

"Victor Nikiforov (left) and his fiancé, Yuuri Katsuki (right) at the Grand Prix Final almost 70 years ago. Katsuki died just a year later in a freak accident, shortly followed by Nikiforov disappearing from the social scene," Allison reads, slack jawed and hands clutching around the phone.

"Oh my god."

"Nikiforov and Katsuki first met at a Grand Prix Final hosted in USA, Detroit—oH MY GOD GUYS THEY MET HERE_—_"

* * *

_Bonus:_

The rink is silent in Phichit's absence, but that’s nothing new. Yuuri waits patiently, bag packed and ready to go next to him on the bleachers. He looks around at the old interior; at the boards, the wooden beams in the ceiling, the worn wood he's sitting on—he’ll miss it.

There’s a shift in the air, the smell of shaven ice and a worn leather coat—

"_Victor_."

And there he is, clear as day. His fringe falls charmingly over his eye, an open invitation to reach out and brush them aside to reveal the crystal clear blue underneath, so that’s what he does. His ring catches in the light.

"Hello, darling," Victor says, a shaky smile breaking up the smooth lines of his face as he reaches out and cups Yuuri's chin in his palm. "Sorry I kept you waiting for so long."

"Nonsense," Yuuri huffs and intertwines their fingers; the metal of Victor's ring is warm beneath his touch.

"You’re right on time as always."

"Hmm, perhaps," Victor murmurs, not at all convinced, but he can’t be bothered to argue.

"Ready to go?"

Yuuri checks himself over; glasses, skates, bag. A white square of paper lays face down on the bleachers next to his bag, so he picks up that too. A tiny picture of himself and Phichit and his diploma, taken only fifteen minutes ago. He tucks it into his pocket and takes the hand offered to him.

"Let’s go," he says and smiles that one smile reserved for Victor and Victor alone, "Makka is waiting."

**Author's Note:**

> My first work for YOI Spooky Week! I have at least three others lined up and ready to go, but none of them are as long as this one. (This is actually my longest fic for yoi, lol, I didn’t even notice before now)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and feel free to yell(gently) at me in the comments!


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